CHAPTER XII
"YOU MAY COME IN A BLIZZARD!"
"_Voyez les_ Kamattawa trains," shrieked Maurice Nicolet, the cacherunner, speeding through the storm-thrashed gates of Oxford House.
"_Mon Dieu_, dat so?" exclaimed Clement Nemaire. "In dis blizzard? W'ereyou be see dem, Maurice?"
"'Cross de _lac_! W'en de snow she stop fallin' some, I see dose trainswan meenit come ovaire de trail."
"Run!" Nemaire admonished. "Tell de Factor dat, queeck!"
The cache runner bolted into the trading room. Macleod was not there.Donald Muir, the assistant trader, held charge.
"_Les_ Kamattawa trains," he howled. "M'sieu', dey be come ovaire de_lac_."
Bargaining ceased. Trade slipped from the men's minds. Donald Muirjumped up and squinted through the open doorway, distinguishing nothingin the swishing cloud-rifts of snow. He turned back with a shiver andjammed the latch viciously.
"Maurice, ye fule," he ridiculed. "I've na doot ye'll be seein' ghostsnext! Ye dinna glint onything but a herd o' caribou driftin' before thestorm."
"_Ba, oui_," persisted Nicolet, "w'en de storm she be sheeft wan leetl'bit an' de cloud break oop, I see dose trains 'cross de _lac_._Vraiment_, dat's so!" Maurice nodded his head energetically and added astring of French superlatives.
"Fetch me the glass," ordered old Donald Muir.
A man brought the glass, a long ship's telescope which Pete Connear hadbestowed upon Oxford House. In spite of having seen hard service, it wasa good glass, and the same lens that had picked out many a foresail uponthe high seas now searched the whirling smother which enveloped thefrozen surface of Oxford Lake for signs of the men from Kamattawa.Donald Muir wedged the rattling door with his knees and sighted throughthe open slit, the hissing snow-eddies spitting in his beard.
"Yon's a glint o' dogs!" he exclaimed. "Noo the snaw's smoorin' in. Idoot, I doot--Ah! yes, I maun believe ye're richt, Nicolet! Aye, mon,ye're richt. I can tell the stride o' yon lang-legged fort runner Maskwaan' the bulk o' Dunvegan. Spread yersels, ye fules--they're here!"
Boring through undeterred, breaking the trail for the teams, taking thebrunt of the blizzard came the tireless Ojibway fort runner. The bodybent double against the wind, the lurch of hips, the spring from theheel, the toe-twist of the lifting shoe, all bespoke the experiencedtripper. Maskwa was old and wise on the trails!
A string of gray dots, the dog teams and the Kamattawa men crawledafter. Up the bank they plunged and scurried through the stockade,scattering the loose drifts like foam.
"Hu! Hu! Hu!" shrieked the Indian dog drivers, directing the teams tothe trading door with a tremendous cracking of their long lashes. Therethe _giddes_ halted, whimpering in the traces. The arms and equipmentswere thrown inside. The storm-harried travelers stumbled after.
"Maurice, ye fule," fumed Donald Muir, "fire up. Dinna stan' there wi'yer mouth open! Fire up, mon, fire up! Can ye no see it's heat theywant?" The fussy, kind hearted assistant trader seized Dunvegan's armand hustled his superior to his room where he had thoughtfully prepareda set of dry garments.
"Yon's wha' ye need," he declared. "Ye'll feel warmer wi' a change." Hisattitude was full of solicitude hidden by a sort of proprietorship thatDunvegan had long ago come to recognize.
"You're like a mother to me, Donald," he laughed. "But I'm really wetthrough with hard work. The change of clothing is well thought of."
"The Factor wants tae confer wi' ye as soon as ye feel fit," announcedthe Scot. "I masel maun see tae the outfits."
He bustled off, sending halfbreeds with the dog teams to the logbuilding where the Company's _giddes_ were kept, ordering food for menand animals, bestowing general comfort upon the Kamattawa stalwartscrouched around the fireplace.
Sandy Stewart, the lowland Scot, had been left in charge of thenewly-built Fort. The rest of Dunvegan's tired followers were here. Theflames licked the bronzed, familiar faces of Pete Connear, TerenceBurke, Baptiste Verenne, Maskwa, Wahbiscaw, the hardy halfbreeds, thetrusted post Indians, the faithful _metis_.
Loyal to the Company, they were here at the Company's call. And they hadcome as Desiree Lazard had idly prophesied.
"Kip back," Maurice Nicolet ordered the Oxford House loungers round thefire. "Let dese men have more room. You be well fed, warm--full of_tabac_ smoke. Kip back. Better go ovaire to de store."
The permanent group obeyed. The new arrivals moved closer. Mauricestoked up, jamming huge birch logs into the cavernous stone pit till itroared and throbbed like a giant engine. Every flicker of the warmingfire draught sent the shivers over their frames, the reaction that comesof thorough chilling.
"Ba gosh," chattered Baptiste Verenne, "dis ees de wors' blizzard yet._Saprie_, leesten dat, _mes camarades_!"
A tree crashed thunderously in the forest. Gathering momentum over thelevel sweep of Oxford Lake, the blasts struck the stockade with a soundlike the rumbling of a thousand ice jams. The buildings rocked to thestorm's wrath. Monstrous drifts threatened to bury them completely. Thebaffled frost, denied entrance, blew its angry, congealing breathinch-thick upon the blurred window panes.
"Sound lak de spreeng, eh?" grinned Baptiste.
"We'll run into a calm in the morning," Pete Connear prophesiedknowingly. "She's been blowin' for fifty hours now. You'll see the winddrop about midnight."
Verenne made a gesture of unbelief. "Mebbe," he grunted, "mebbe."
"I know it," growled Connear. "Let me tell you, Frenchy, that I'veweathered more gales than you ever heard of. It'll be calm to-morrow andcolder than a Belle Isle ice-berg." He lighted the pipe he had filledand lay back within the heat circle blowing clouds of contentment.
Dunvegan dressed hastily. He was anxious to get out and go through hisinterview with the Factor in order that he might then have some time topay a visit to a certain small cabin below the Chapel. He had not seenEdwin Glyndon, the clerk when he came in. Bruce wondered jealously ifthe young Englishman was at the Lazard home. The words of BasilDreaulond, given as a friendly hint, had worked in him with the yeast ofunrest, stirring up misgivings, forebodings, positive fears.
When Bruce crossed the trading room, he looked for Glyndon again, butthe latter was not to be seen.
"Where's the clerk?" he asked, addressing his retainers sprawling closeto the ruddy logs in the fireplace.
"Don't know," Connear answered. "I haven't seen him. Guess he's with theother Oxford House men. They're over at the store. Old Donald's goneacross to start the packing."
"Better have your things dry and your gear all ready to-night," was thechief trader's parting advice. "Unless there is a change of plans, westart at dawn for Fort Brondel."
While he made his way to the Factor's house, the terrific wind seemedlessening in velocity, and the snow was settling in straighter lines.Yet the swaying forest held its dejected droop. The air had still thatvoice of wild desolation, symbolic of sorrow, of heart-break, ofdesecration.
Seated somberly at the table in his council room, Malcolm Macleod didnot speak at Dunvegan's entrance. The chief trader, quite accustomed tothe Factor's vagaries, waited unconcernedly on Macleod's whim. Buriedin his dark ruminations, the Factor sat immovable, his knitted eyebrowsmeeting, his piercing black eyes focused on the table center. Suddenlyhe banged the top with his fist.
"The girl Flora," he bellowed. "Any trace, any sight of her?"
"None," Dunvegan answered calmly. "I don't think we'll see her againtill we stand inside the stockades of Fort La Roche."
"Which will be soon," grated Macleod, with sinister emphasis. "I'llstand there, mind you, before spring runs out. I swear it by all thesaints and devils of heaven and hell!" The oath was heartily backed byhis malignant face and the suggestive gnash of strong teeth behindtightened lips.
The chief trader drew some closely written sheets from his pocket.
"Here is my report," he ventured by way of getting Macleod's mind liftedfrom his hateful brooding. "This is the record of my daybook induplicate. It will tell you everything. Wh
ile good fortune blessed usat Kamattawa, things seem to have gone badly with you here."
"Gone badly," echoed the Factor, sneeringly. "I call the loss of two furtrains, ten men, and a clerk hellish."
"Clerk? Was Glyndon with them? Did he fall in the fight?" Eagercuriosity was mingled with Dunvegan's great astonishment.
"No," growled Macleod, "he wasn't with the fur trains. How could he be?Just a week ago to-day he married Lazard's niece, and they fledtogether."